Somebody Save Me
by Adrian Winter
Summary: [HD Slash] Rated for fairly nongraphic abuse... Basically, Harry runs [or flys, rather] away from the Dursleys... and ends up unconscious on Draco Malfoy's front lawn. [ABANDONED: Details in chapter four and my profile]
1. Flight

A/N: I actually have a prologue written for this fic... but it's not finished... so expect for this whole dealie to get rearranged at some point...

Rated M for rape and abuse and all that good stuff... It's slash– don't complain. (HarryxDraco)

I'm assuming a couple of things for this chapter that I'm not absolutely sure of– feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, though I probably won't change it even if it is:

1) They get 2 months for summer vacation, and 2) Both Harry and Draco live somewhere South of where Hogwarts is, with Draco's Mansion being a bit further South than the Dursley's house... so, yeah.

Enjoy!

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**Somebody Save Me**

CHAPTER 1

_Four weeks into the summer holiday, Number Four Privet Drive_

'_Happy Birthday to me..._' Harry Potter thought sardonically as he stared into the darkness. Cautiously, so as not to jostle his battered body, he curled deeper into the pathetic rag that he used as a blanket. He let out a slow hiss of pain as his broken arm bumped painfully against the wall of his cupboard; he actually wasn't sure that it was broken, but it might as well have been for all the pain he was in. Sighing shakily with physical hurt and frustration, he fought the telltale stinging at the corners of his eyes.

The past year or so had been rather uneventful. He'd spent the summer before sixth year with the Weasleys, and if he hadn't been mourning the death of his Godfather, he would have been happier about it. After a summer of attempts at comfort and support by his friends and surrogate family, Harry returned to Hogwarts as glum as ever. To his disappointment, not even going back to his real home could help lift the bitter emotions that weighed down his heart. The ancient castle seemed to have lost most of its awing magical glow, although if this was from his depression or from simply getting older, he didn't know, nor did he care enough to think about it.

In the beginning, he continued to talk to Ron and Hermione, but generally ignored everyone else, and eventually even them. When he wasn't in class, he was isolating himself in Gryffindor tower, and was seldom seen in the Great Hall during meals. He didn't even bother to go down to the kitchens, and it was a few days before it was noticed that he wasn't eating. From that point forward, he had frequent visits from food-bearing house elves; though he did eat some of what excitable creatures brought him, the weight loss had been obvious.

He spent his time drowning himself in his studies, and as a result found his abilities and knowledge in _all_ areas increasing, even those that he was previously hopeless in. He improved so much, in fact, that he left hardly anything for even Professor Snape to criticize (although the bitter potions master managed just as many biting comments and lost points as ever).

When he wasn't studying, he was contemplating Sirius' death, wishing for some way to bring his Godfather back. God, how he missed him. He'd been so happy at the thought of living with Sirius, away from the Dursleys, with the closest tie to his parents that he'd ever had– and it had been gone almost as soon as it had come. All because of him. If Sirius hadn't been protecting Harry, he might still be alive. Alternating between extreme self hatred and loathing, deep depression, and murderous conviction for the death of Voldemort and his followers, Harry wallowed in inner turmoil and allowed himself to pull further away from his friends, while distracting himself with schoolwork.

Had he been in any decent state of mind, he would have noticed the lack of recent Death Eater activity that signified the classic calm before the storm. He also would have noticed the lack of harassment from a certain blonde Slytherin, who also seemed to be pulling away from those around him to immerse himself in schoolwork, although without the ill physical or emotional side affects.

He didn't, however, and it wasn't until the last few months of the school year that he began to finally pull out of his emotional pit with renewed vigor and determination. Ron and Hermione were relieved, of course, and they, along with most of the Griffyndors (and many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well), welcomed him back with open arms.

And so, he ended his sixth year with many O.W.L.'s (much to Hermione's delight), and a partially restored emotional and physical state. He went home with the Dursleys (much to his chagrin and confusion– he'd been with the Weasleys the summer before, why not this summer?), and for awhile the unspoken truce he had with them (he did chores, they let him eat) seemed to hold up just fine.

That is, until about two weeks ago.

He'd been sitting (quietly and unobtrusively, he might add) up in his padlocked bedroom, murmuring softly to Hedwig. Harry was just about to send her on her way (with letters to Ron and Hermione, of course) when he became aware of the familiar clinking sound of someone un-barricading his door. In stomped a whale of a man, demanding at the top of his lungs that the "freak get downstairs this instant" to some odd chore or whatnot. Upon seeing the "ruddy owl", however, Vernon Dursley had stopped mid tirade and turned a rather lovely shade of purple. He immediately stomped over to where bird and boy sat, promptly snatched the startled owl, and had thrown her back out the open window before the equally startled young wizard could do anything.

After an un-strategic "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" from Harry, and a "Don't you talk to me like that, Boy!" from Uncle Vernon, Harry was dragged unceremoniously downstairs where he was then thrown roughly into his cupboard; the cupboard that he hadn't been in for six years. Needless to say, it didn't quite fit him anymore, and was extremely cramped and stifling.

After that, his treatment had been even worse than usual. And, even though the Dursleys had always been _far_ from loving, they had never before done anything of potential real harm or lasting damage. A few smacks upside the head, a few days in a row without food, and a few scathing comments about his lineage and _freakish_ inheritance, just to keep him in line. So, naturally, Harry was completely perplexed as to the sudden change in attitude. He also wasn't sure if he'd survive till the end of summer.

The chores he had to do had increased in number, intensity, and obscurity. He often found himself working past dark just to get everything done that was required of him. His meals were diminished from what now seemed a generous 3 a day, to one a day. Worst, and probably the most angering and unprovoked of all, were the beatings. Uncle Vernon would pull Harry aside from his tasks to bludgeon him for no reason, something that Dudley found quite amusing, and often joined in on; the raven-haired adolescent had fought back as much as he could, of course, but one can only do so much against someone five times one's size and girth. After a week and a half, Harry stopped fighting back.

His most recent encounter with his uncle and cousin had left him with a freshly bruised jaw, black eye, broken arm, bruised ribs, and cut on the back of the head from where it had hit the corner of the living room table. That didn't even include the older (although still relatively recent) bruises and scrapes everywhere else. Uncle Vernon had harbored a malicious glint in his beady eyes as he had said, "Maybe a few days in your cupboard will teach you a lesson, _Boy_.", and Dudley had been sneering triumphantly as the door was slammed shut and locked.

That had been four days ago.

He'd been isolated in an incredibly small space with no food, no water, and no light, for _four days_. Granted, he was no stranger to the lack of these things, but dammit, he'd just started liking the taste of food again...

Harry's stomach grumbled and he felt as if it were trying him from the inside out. He clenched his eyes shut against the pain and tried to ignore how chapped his lips were from dehydration. His breathing was shallow and even though the cut on the back of his head had finally stopped bleeding, it was giving him a headache worthy of the Cruciatus curse. '_I'm going to die in here..._' He thought miserably. He knew he wasn't going to live a long life, what with him being #1 on Volemort's list of people-who-need-to-die, but bloody hell, this was _not_ how he had expected to go.

Into the infinite darkness Harry stared, struggling without success to keep his bearings after the prolonged isolation. The pain from hunger and injury were constant, and he almost couldn't stifle a whimper. The blackness around him suddenly seemed more threatening, and with it came deep dark thoughts to match.

Why shouldn't he just die? What was keeping him here... what did he really have to live for?

He recalled muddled images of his friends, and professors, and Hogwarts... memories that should have filled his heart with feelings of joy, familiarity, and warmth. But they didn't. Nothing he could think of brought him any remnant of those feelings. A sob escaped Harry as he realized he couldn't remember what it was like to be happy, or even content... or warm.

He felt cold, a freezing numbing sensation that reached deep down to the bone. He felt extreme loneliness. He'd isolated himself from all of them for the past year, and now felt like a literal representation of that had been imposed upon him. He felt the coilings of fear of the evils that surely lurked in the shadows. He felt anger at those people, who were supposed to care about him, _love_ him, but weren't here now to save him from the darkness... or from himself. _Where are they now? _His mind screamed at him, and he sobbed again because he couldn't answer.

He felt powerless and worthless; he couldn't even stand up to his muggle uncle, and he obviously wasn't worth his friends care or attention. He felt guilty; faces came out of the darkness; his parents, who died protecting him, Cedric, who died because of him, Sirius who died protecting_ him_, Harry, The-Boy-Who-Lived... because other people died... and by now the tears were flowing freely, because he knew his friends would be better off without him anyway. And now he was going to die, alone, broken, and deservingly so.

It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his mind decided to speak out. It reminded him that his parents and friends and professors would never want him to give up like this. It told him that his friends _did_ care, and that he should have more faith. It showed him memories that he'd overlooked, and emotions he'd forgotten. It screamed at him that maybe his parents and Sirius had died for a reason, and that dying like _this _would be no way to honour their deaths, and the trust that they had put in him. It finished with telling him to get his arse into gear, and pull himself together.

"I'm not going to die like this..." He croaked aloud, though there was no one to here him. He supposed he was answering that tiny brave voice that had given him a light in the darkness.

Harry focused his mind and started trying to come up with a solution. Step one: Get out of the cupboard. How to do that? Not a clue. All he knew was that he had to get out of there somehow– if only he had his wand, he could just use a simple unlocking charm...

But then what? A fat lot of good _that _would do him... escape the Dursleys' only to get expelled from Hogwarts and left with no place to go. He'd already been there, done that. And then again, that had turned out okay... of course that had been before Fudge had deemed him unstable and insane. The moronic minister would probably proclaim '_Alohomora_' an Unforgivable, just to get Harry thrown in Azkaban.

He gave a shaky sigh, mental reserves starting to crumble already. Sitting up slowly but decisively, he (literally) inched his way over till he was kneeling, hunched over, directly in front of the cupboard door. He rested his aching head against the door, and his hand ended up pressed right where the lock was on the other side. He tried to think. There had to be _some_ way to get out. There _had_ to be... Harry found himself wishing more and more for his wand.

'_Screw Fudge_,' he thought. He could run from the ministry, and surely Dumbledoor would help him... _like he's helping you now?_ He ground his teeth together and ignored the doubts that swirled threateningly in mind. If he only had his wand– _alohomora_, that's all it would take. He had to get out, the shadows seemed to be coming closer, and it was getting harder to breath. He closed his eyes– _alohomora– _damn the Dursleys for not locking his school stuff with him... he could see the lock clearly– _alohomora_– he had to get out– _alohomora_– if only he had his wand!

"_Alohomora,_" He whispered pleadingly with a hoarse voice, picturing the unlocking of the bolt, wishing it with all his being to be so.

_Click._

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sound of the bolt being unlocked, and he froze, eyes fixed staring wide into the darkness where the cupboard door must have been. His heart beat furiously inside his chest, and he held his breath listening for the tiniest of sounds, expecting a purple or pudgy face to emerge out of the shadows. Why Vernon or Dudley would want to give up precious hours of sleep to give him a midnight beating, he didn't know, and after a few soundless moments, he realized this. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his head in relief, laughing nervously and humorlessly at himself. Taking deep, calming breaths despite the pain from his ribs, the young Griffyndor tried to fully comprehend what he'd just done.

Hesitating for only a moment, he tentatively reached forward and turned the knob, pushing the door open. He blinked, taking in the dimly lit familiar surroundings. Lamp light from the street filtered through the window, acting as a welcome change to the complete darkness of the cupboard. Heart still beating furtively, he stepped cautiously out and stood up carefully, glancing about nervously as he stretched as far as his injuries would allow, and wincing when they wouldn't. Taking another deep breath, he sought to gather his thoughts once more.

'_I'll worry about how I did that later..._' he thought tiredly. He'd never heard of anyone doing wandless magic, but he supposed it was just one more thing that he didn't know about the wizarding world.

Realizing that he couldn't go anywhere without first getting his trunk and broom (and wand, he supposed, although it appeared as thought he didn't need it), he padded softly over to the staircase. Limping slightly, he made his way up and through the second story hallway, stopping in front of his goal door– the one riddled with myriad locks keeping it closed... and him out.

"What now genius?" Harry whispered to himself, eyeing the locks with disdain. He then blinked with realization, and gave a hollow laugh at himself inside his head. He'd done it once, why couldn't he do it again? Lifting his good hand up to hover in front to the most prominent of the locks, he whispered, "_Alohomora."_

Instantly, all the locks sprung obediently open, and he let out a small breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Suddenly, an unexpected wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling over. Adrenaline took a back seat, and more pain, exhaustion and weakness swept over him.

"Bloody hell..." he murmured in a shaky whisper. He felt like a dozen hippogryffs were tap-dancing in his head, and with an experimental reach backward, discovered that it was also bleeding again. Forcing himself to focus through the pain, he entered through the newly unlocked entry-way, and shakily proceeded over to his trunk. After first making sure all his belongings (save his invisibility cloak and broom) were safely in his trunk, he shrunk it and stowed it in his pocket. His wand was there in his pocket as well, of course, but for some odd reason he felt it would be better not to use it. It was the strangest thing, really, and even if he had been thinking clearly he wouldn't have been able to explain it.

Wrapping his cloak around him as he headed back downstairs, he glanced back behind him one last time, mentally saying his last (or at least what he hoped to be his last) farewells to his relatives. Walking outside, stumbling slightly, he mounted his broom, and tucked injured arm against him before kicking off, soaring up into the cloudy sky. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of flight, of being in his element. For a moment, he forgot everything, going higher and breaking through the above the cloud cover.

The moon shone brightly and the stars twinkled merrily, adding to the beauty of the night sky. A never-ending expanse of illuminated clouds spread out like the ocean beneath him, completely hiding the world bellow from sight.

The moment was short lived, however, and he had to grip the handle tighter to keep from falling off. Dizziness and nausea swept over him, and it was difficult to keep balance with only one good arm. His head pounded from the altitude change, and he was starting to shake with hunger and cold.

"Bugger," he murmured softly, realizing that it was time for step 3: find someplace safe to stay for the remainder of the summer. And he had no idea where to go. Ideally, he would just go straight to Hogwarts– but there were several flaws with that plan. The first being that Dumbledoor had placed him with the Dursleys in the first place, and he'd probably end up back there again.

Part of him knew that it wasn't the Headmasters fault, and that if the old wizard knew how he was really being treated, he wouldn't have left Harry with his abusive relatives. Besides, they hadn't been that bad until just recently... the other part of him said _screw the Dursleys, and screw Dumbledoor,_ because the old fool knew everything– at least, he always acted like he did. And he had lied and kept things from Harry, things that he should have been told. Could he ever really trust him? During the past year it hadn't been an issue, but now...

Secondly, was the more immediate problem of not having any idea _where_ exactly Hogwarts was. Maybe he could just take the knight bus to the Leaky Cauldron? He could just rent a room and stay there till September... somehow though, he didn't think that was such a good idea– he really didn't want to deal with that, and there was always the chance that Fudge would be waiting for him like he was last time... he had been doing magic outside of school, after all.

"So what now?" he asked aloud with a strained and bordering on panicked voice. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead, and his grip on the broom handle was slippery– he was sure he had a fever, and the shaking was getting worse. His vision blurred as his eyelids drooped, and he knew his strength was fading fast– he had to find someplace to stay, and soon.

It was getting harder to think through the vice-like pain in his head, and suddenly he decided his best bet was to head North. Why that was, he couldn't say, but at that point he didn't really care. Taking a deep breath, he held his good hand, palm up, in front of him, balancing precariously on his broom. His surface thoughts were focused on getting a cardinal bearing, on finding the way North; hidden underneath was the need and desire to find someplace safe, where he wouldn't be sent back to the Dursleys', and where he would be able to get back to Hogwarts come September.

With a shaky voice he murmured, "_Point me,_" and was both surprised and relieved to see a small sphere of green magic appear just above his hand. It quickly materialized into a bright shining arrow, which then spun around a bit before stopping, apparently pointing out the path he ought to take. He steered his firebolt carefully with his legs in the specified direction, before quickly dropping his hand to hold onto the handle once again. Consequently the glowing arrow vanished, and he hoped that he wouldn't need to conjure it again, seeing as how he didn't feel like falling of his broom because he couldn't keep his balance in his current state; a mental and physical state that was getting worse by the minute.

Left with nothing else to do, the raven-haired Griffyndor sped shakily off in the appointed direction. He flew for long time. He didn't have any idea how long, and despite his best efforts, he was quickly losing focus. Numb with cold from the biting wind and weighed down with fatigue, his head began to droop as the night clouds whipped by around him. His arms were shaking with the effort of keeping balance... his head felt like it was being squeezed by a giants fist, and his vision was getting blurry...

'_Gotta keep going..._' he thought groggily, even though he couldn't quite remember why. He could barely see, and everything _hurt_... he was so tired... maybe he could just rest for a little bit...

The world around him faded to black as his body drooped forward along the broom, bringing it into a slowly accelerating dive toward the ground. His eyes were closed while the wind whistled past, and the earth below loomed closer. He was unconscious by the time he hit the ground; his firebolt continued to fly in lazy circles a few meters above him as the horizon lightened with impending dawn.

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A/N: How's the pacing? Too slow? Too fast? Should we here more about what Harry is thinking? Should he never talk at all? I need feed back! So, please review... if you don't, I'll get paranoid and think you don't like me... ha, ha. I'm just being silly. Yeah.

Was this a good sized chapter? Would you rather have a few long chapters, or several shorter ones?

Thanks for reading! cough_review_cough

;-;Adrian Winter;-;


	2. Rough Landing

A/N: Okay, so, before I said that there was going to be a prologue... I changed my mind. Tee-hee. Also, I forgot to mention (in case it wasn't made clear), this fic takes place during the summer before their seventh year, and will continue onward from that point accordingly... I dunno how far I'm going to take it.

I don't usually _write_ fanfiction... but this particular plot bunny kept hopping around in my head until I thought I was going to explode; so, I decided to write it down even though it might not be that good... needless to say, I was ecstatic to see the number of positive reviews that I got...

I won't reply to those of you who reviewed personally, simply because it takes up too much space. I'll try to summarize...

One of you said that you found it realistic– thank you! I try my best to make the situation as believable as possible, and keep the characters from getting too OOC... the thing that makes fantasies so enticing is the small chance that they might actually happen.

That being said, I had given a lot of thought to the different ways that I could have written Draco for this fic... I figure he probably is a little– er, a lot OC, but it works the best for this story, I think, and I still tried to make it believable, and like I said, even though it's not the _only_ way I could have written him, it's... well, it's the easiest for me.

There was some other stuff... let's see... oh yes, someone suggested that I come up for a reason why Harry couldn't have stayed with the Weaseley's again... and I still haven't come up with a reason. I'm going to admit, this isn't a planned out piece; everything here is just what comes out as I'm writing, so chances are, it's not going to be completely and technically correct for most of the time. Let's just pretend that the Weasleys got tired of having Harry hanging around. Or not. I dunno.

I think I've rambled enough. Once again, thanks for the reviews, and now on with the fic!

Enjoy!

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**Somebody Save Me**

CHAPTER 2

_Four weeks and a day into the summer holidays, North Gardens of Malfoy Manner_

The lone figure of Draco Malfoy walked leisurely down elegantly cobbled stone steps. His silver blonde hair shone even in the dull light of morning as the stairs lead him away from the manner. He took a deep breath of the cold misty air, savoring the crisp feeling it left in his lungs and the shiver it sent down his spine. A stray lock fell into his sliver eyes, and he carefully tucked it back into place as he glanced at the murky overcast sky. An expansive garden of manicured hedges and ever-blooming flowers spread out before his calm gaze as he continued on his morning walk.

This recently acquired habit, however, was not a result of any particular fondness for the outdoors, nor admiration of nature, but rather an absence of anything better to do. What with his father being in prison, his mother being her usual distant self, and his summer assignments having been finished _ages_ ago, he'd found himself bored out of his mind.

Not that he was complaining; contrary to popular belief, he was not looking forward to serving the Dark Lord. In fact, he'd wanted nothing to do with You-Know-Who and his followers for quite a while now. He'd not been in the position, however, to make that decision. So, he'd obediently followed Lucius's example of distasteful behavior and acted (rather successfully) as if he wanted nothing more than to be Voldemort's right hand Death Eater, and to see every muggle and mudblood dead and disintegrated. He spewed the prejudiced ideas of pureblood supremacy, just as any pure-blooded wizard should. And of course, he expressed nothing but loathing for one Harry Potter.

Truthfully, however, he did not cleave to any of his father's _ideals_, if that's what one could call them. He had nothing against muggles, or muggle-born for that matter. As far as he was concerned, they were just another group of people living on the planet. They ate and slept just like wizards, they laughed and cried and yelled and bled. They were people too, they just couldn't use magic. And they'd never done anything to hurt the magical community– if anything, the magical community was hurting _them_. Although, how they survived without magic, Draco would never know. He even held a small bit of admiration for them; to be able to live without something that he (and almost every other witch and wizard) took for granted every day seemed like no small feat.

Harry Potter, however, was an entirely separate issue altogether.

Draco had, simply put, ex_treme_ly mixed feelings. On most days, surface level emotions controlled his view on the raven-haired adolescent. He was a Gryffindor, The-Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, and that and his apparenthero complex were enough to make Draco disdainful of him. His temperamental attitude and insufferable righteousness were enough to make Draco dislike him with a passion. And the fact that no matter how hard he tried, Draco could never seem to best him at anything... well, that was enough to make the prideful young Slytherin wish that Harry Potter would sink to the bottom of the lake and never come back up... and while he was at it, be eaten by the giant squid... who would then have indigestion and end up chucking the remains back up... et cetera, et cetera.

There were moments, though, when Draco was truly honest with himself... and it was times like those that he knew that most of his ill feelings toward Harry stemmed from his rejection on the train in their first year... He knew that he was actually, though it pained him to even think it, envious of Harry, who always had the uncanny ability to be the center of everything. Draco had been raised to be the best, the cleverest, the most worthy of recognition; but that recognition had never come, what with everybody being distracted by the famous Harry Potter. Even the professors, save Snape, seemed to favor Harry and his Griffyndor friends above everyone else. Harry had a certain flair for being the center of attention... there was just a natural _attraction_ to him that most people couldn't ignore...

And when Draco fought with Harry, whether it be verbally or magically, in crowded halls or deserted classrooms, he could see the fire of anger and barely leashed power blazing in his emerald eyes. The young Slytherin's heart would beat faster with each encounter, his insides squirming with adrenalin, and in the later years, leaving him _excited_ in a way that no one else had ever made him feel.

He'd beaten his head against the wall at the hopelessness of the situation, though it left his thoughts swirling in a rather ruthless cycle; Eventually, the headache (from beating his head against the wall—what? you thought I was kidding?) would make him yield slightly, and he would stop briefly to acknowledge the fact that he didn't _hate_ Harry... and if it was a particularly bad headache he would give in further and admit to even _fancying _Harry, if only for the split-est of seconds. But then he would realize (with a pause in the beating to give the wall a break) even if he accepted the fact that he had less than hateful thoughts toward Harry, the sentiment would never be returned... Harry hated him. That would never change. There was not even the slightest of chances of that. Not at all.

Then the head beating would start all over again.

And Slytherins, as we all know, are _not_ known for their honesty. They are known for their cunning and self-preservation– and it had _definitely_ been in his best interest to maintain a nice, healthy dislike for Harry Potter.

He was still a proud and arrogant Slytherin; he still thought he had a right to be proud of his bloodline and house; he was intelligent, cunning, and magically talented; he did not, however, wish to rage war against the majority of the wizarding (and all of the muggle) community following a psychotic hypocritical bastard who'd kill him once he lost his usefulness. As stated before, he wasn't stupid; he saw his fathers brain washing tactics and short-sighted prejudices for what they were. And he'd had enough time to make up his own mind.

So, he'd actually been relieved when Lucius had been captured after the fiasco at the Ministry at the end of fifth year, despite his acting to the contrary. The way he figured it, the longer his father was magically sealed behind bars, the longer it'd be before he had to deal with anything serious concerning his assumed allegiance to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And when that time did come, well... he'd just have to figure it out then.

After all, even if he wasn't planning to fight for Voldemort, he hadn't planned on fighting _against _him either. But who knows? Maybe he'd deflect to the light side anyway– just to keep him from getting bored...

The past year, after all, had not been all that entertaining.

Though he suddenly found himself with a new freedom with the imprisonment of his Father, he hadn't planned on doing anything extravagant to exercise said freedom. And indeed, when sixth year had started, not much changed... well, not too much anyway. To anyone that had been paying attention, there were actually quite a few things that were different from his previous years at Hogwarts.

Having decided that the Death Eater lifestyle was not for him, Draco no longer felt the need to hold up former pretenses. He no longer troubled himself with associating with those he knew to be loyal to the Dark Lord... Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini... and a handful of others. He mostly ignored them(save an icy glare or two at Pansy when she tried to cling to him), much to their confusion and eventual anger at his subtle betrayal.

Lacking the presence of his Father's previous instruction, he spent the year delving into his studies, and avoiding the Slytherin common room like a rogue bludger. He likewise ignored students in other houses as well– though he no longer bothered to uphold the appearance of petty prejudices, he wasn't about to go and be all fluffy and friendly either. Not that it wasn't tempting where a certain emerald eyed Griffyndor was concerned... But, he'd been over that already, hadn't he?

There was something odd going on though, Draco noticed... Usually, the Griffyndor Golden Trio could be seen gallivanting around being cheerful and bothersome (not that Draco himself had done anything worthy of their attention), but for the whole of their sixth year, he hardly saw them at all... either that, or they had simply become less noticeable. And when he did see them, be it a passing glance in a hallway, or quick look in the great hall, they all seemed pale and exhausted, like they'd just been in a particularly horrible Care of Magical Creatures class. He knew that class could be dreadful, but honestly, they looked like someone had died...

Of the three, however, Harry seemed the worst off, and Draco suspected that the only reason that Granger and Weasley weren't fairing well was because _Harry_ wasn't. Said bespeckled adolescent almost always appeared as though he hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep. He was pale and never, not once, did he smile that entire year... not a real smile anyway. Sure, he'd give a small lift of the corners of his lips to be polite, but it was not real– there was not sparkle in his eyes, or pleasantness in his voice. Draco found that he missed Harry's laugh.

So it was with outstanding O.W.L.S., a mild worry niggling at the back of his mind, and an expectation for a banal summer that Draco returned home at the end of the year.

And where exactly did that leave him? It left him strolling in the Northern Gardens, bored out of his mind, that's where. He sighed, glancing lazily at the charmed shrubbery around him. His cool, but unguarded gaze swept leisurely around him as he strolled; His mother had always expressed a fondness for the gardens, and she made sure that the house elves kept them healthy and trim...

'_Although,_' Draco thought, '_They seem to be slacking on their jobs..._' He squinted slightly as he spotted a rebellious begonia bush that was very un-trim indeed. It was squashed and uneven, with many of its branches, flowers and leaves bent, broken, and littering the ground. The young Slytherin walked towards it with mild curiosity. As he looked it over, his eyes strayed up to the sky; his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised on their own accord as he saw a broom flying in lazy circles not twenty feet above his head. As he gazed, perplexed, at the broom above him, he continued to walk along the perimeter of the bush—

Until he abruptly _stopped_ walking, having suddenly found himself on the ground, his feet entangled in what appeared to be an invisibility cloak– with somebody else still in it; he could only see an arm and a leg peeking out from under what seemed like nothing, though Draco knew there was a whole body there... it had been solid enough to send him sprawling, after all.

Draco stared blankly at where his feet would have been, before swiftly righting himself, drawing his wand, and furiously wrenching the cloak away to see just who had decided to take a nap on his front lawn.

"Potter!"

Draco stared incredulously, mouth agape (and anger forgotten), at the unmoving body over which he had tripped. His features slowly shifted into a grim frown as he noticed the Gryffindor's condition; His body was riddled with cuts, scrapes, and bruises, as well as large gash on the back of his head that seemed to still be bleeding. He was much to pale, was most definitely malnourished, and his breaths were so shallow that Draco had to lean close to see if he was breathing at all. The blonde gasped softly as he saw just how much blood had been lost over what must have been overnight; he blanched as he realized with a start that he was kneeling in a small pool of blood.

"What the hell happened to you Potter," he murmured in a constrained voice which leaked his barely constrained horror, '_And how in Merlin's name did you end up _here_, of all places..._' He pushed a torrent of questions from his mind, and decisively gathered the frail body into his arms, his own brain to fuddled by shock to bother with magic.

He ran as fast as his burden would allow back to the manor, through it's regal front doors and up the main stair case. The door to his bedroom flung unceremoniously open as he rushed in and gently lay Harry down on his bed. Draco's heart was beating furiously as he wrestled over what to do next. Hesitating for only a moment, he whipped out his wand and murmured a few scanning charms to assess the damage, his mind already listing necessary potions ingredients for affective blood restoratives, pain relievers and–

Draco cursed softly. It was worse than he thought, which was rather remarkable considering that he had been expecting the worst; the spell he had cast made hidden injuries visible via different colored lights that settled atop the skin over wherever the injuries were. His eyes began to hurt from looking at Harry, whose skin was plagued by those lights in several areas. Where the light formed condensed, blue lines on Harry's left arm, both legs, and many places on his painfully visible ribs, Draco knew there were fractures and breaks in the bones. Where the light misted in pools similar to spilt, red ink all along Harry's torso, there was internal bleeding. And when it swirled ominously purple around the unconscious boy's head, Draco realized that Harry had a concussion, in addition to a cracked skull. Not to mention all the (literally) bloody gashes and swelling bruises that had been visible without the spells...

Draco felt a combination of nausea and amazement; How could someone survive through something like that? And more importantly, how the hell would they get that way in the first place?

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. At this point, the only thing he needed to worry about was keeping Harry Potter alive.

:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:

The first thing Harry noticed as he slipped back into semi-consciousness was the soft bed in which he lay. Eyes still closed, he experimentally twitched fingers– silk sheets... interesting. He wondered briefly where he might be, but decided he'd find out soon enough. He took a deep breath, tensing in expectance for pain from his ribs, but none came. He let the breath out with surprised relief and, having been encouraged by his seemingly improved condition, shifted a bit more, testing his boundaries. He almost smiled– nothing hurt. He'd have to thank who ever had healed him. Left with no reason not to, Harry took another deep breath and opened his eyes.

He blinked at the blurry nondescript ceiling and sat up with the intention of searching for his glasses. He needn't look far, however, as he found them being held out to him by pale, elegant fingers. He blinked back mild surprise, and gratefully took them with a muttered, "Thank you..." Putting them on, he felt the familiar security that always came with getting his glasses back, and then remembering that he was not alone, looked up curiously into calm grey eyes.

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed, nearly falling backwards in an unorganized attempt to get further away from him. "Wha- I... What are _you_ doing here?" Harry's brain was addled with the instinct to curse the Slytherin before him into the floor boards, but the confusion that was there also was over-riding said instinct.

Draco's eyebrow raised upward with obvious amusement as he said, "Well, I do live here, Potter,"

Harry continued staring with disbelief for a few moments before he said, in a hard voice, despite the panic that fluttered in his stomach, "Alright then, what the hell am _I_ doing in _your_ house... and why haven't I been strung up and handed over to Voldemort, or something of the sorts?" '_Not that I'm complaining..._' he thought.

Wincing slightly at Voldemort's name, Draco replied, "To answer your first question, I was hoping you could tell _me_ that... it's not everyday that I walk through the gardens to find an unconscious body lying in the begonias. As for the second, it will most likely surprise you to know that my loyalties do not lie with the Dark Lord... nor did they ever."

Harry simply stared, startled and bewildered, at the calm Slytherin before him. His face was absent of sneer or smirk or scowl, and he looked almost... normal. And though his words could have easily been twisted with malice or disdain, they weren't; Draco spoke plainly and purposefully, something that Harry had never heard before.

'_Why on Earth is he being so... _civil?' Harry pondered as Draco spoke. Still eyeing him suspiciously, convinced that this was, without a question, all a plot to lull him into a false sense of security, Harry hostilely demanded, "And why should I believe that? What makes you think that I'll suddenly trust you after nothing but insults and harassment from you for the past six years?"

Draco took a deep breath and reached into his robes for his wand. Seeing Harry stiffen, he slowed his actions and, holding the Gryffyndor's wary gaze with his own, pulled out his wand holding it in the traditional non hostile manner; it was loosely in his grip, held only with the tips of his fingers and thumb, and he then set it on the night stand that was next to the bed.

"Better?"

Harry gave a small nod and, though obviously still suspicious, seemed to relax a little at this. Draco proceeded to lift up the sleeve on his left arm, showing clear, unblemished skin.

Harry was about to protest that just because Draco hadn't the Dark Mark yet, didn't mean that his allegiance wasn't with his father and Voldemort. He was stopped, however, when Draco spoke softly, "_Five_ years, Potter... if you'll recall, last year I did nothing... not _once_ did I bother you or Weasely or Granger. Although, I dare say you were in no condition to notice..." Draco's blank features had shifted into a soft frown, and as Harry continued to display an amusing combination of a incredulous gape and a rivalrous scowl, he thought he saw a flicker of emotion in Draco's eyes.

Harry suddenly felt very tired. Swiftly shifting from defensive confusion, shock, and suspicion to a milder level of perplexity and resignation, he heaved a heavy sigh, and pulled his knees up to his chest. Resting his forehead against his knees, he effectively ignored the boy next to him and tried to think logically. He supposed that if Malfoy had wanted to do anything to him he could have done it while he'd been unconscious. This notion did not quell his uncertainties, however, and he couldn't help but wonder what could have possibly caused the sudden change of heart. For, up until now (or the end of fifth year rather, Harry supposed), the young Slytherin had made his loyalties known, and in the clearest of ways.

It was just so _odd_... their rivalry had always been constant– for Malfoy to act in any way other than that of an insufferable git was... well, un_fath_omable. Harry somehow felt like the foundations of all his beliefs were beginning to crumble beneath his feet.

Harry sighed again. Regardless of Malfoy's intentions, Harry still had to figure out what to do next. His head was starting to hurt again, but the rest of him felt fine. He'd be well and able enoughto try and fly somewhere else... but the problem still remained: where exactly could he go? '_Any where but here... this is just too weird._'

Raising his head with the hopes of gathering himself and strolling out of Malfoy Manner without drawing any attention to himself, he was stopped once again by something being held out to him. A phial filled with a sickly orange potion.

"For the headache."

All plans of escape momentarily forgotten, Harry looked skeptically from the phial, to Malfoy, and back at the phial again.

Draco gave a small huff of annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of magic, Potter, it's not poison..." he grumbled, swiftly recalling the offered potion and uncorking the phial. Taking a small, demonstrative sip, he swallowed, re-corked the phial, and returned it to it's position of offering.

Harry watched Draco warily for any ill effects, and then, steeling himself for a foul tasting potion, he took the phial and downed the orange solution.

Mildly surprised by the lack of disgusting-ness (it was pumpkin flavored), Harry handed the phial back to Malfoy with another mumbled "Thanks..." and proceeded to stare awkwardly at the dark bedspread as the pain in his head began to ebb.

"You had a concussion and a cracked skull," Draco explained, flopping down gracefully (Harry didn't realize it was possible for any one to flop gracefully...) into an armchair that was next to the bed. "In addition to other things. The potion I gave you was a combination of pain killer and healer for the concussion, and I already healed the crack– it'll probably still be little tender, but the potion will help. You'll also have to take nourishment, hydration, and blood restoratives within the hour." Again he spoke in that smooth, calm, emotionless voice that left Harry perplexed.

Feeling stifled bythe mixed feelings of suspicion and reluctant gratitude, Harry couldn't stop himself from asking, "But why? I mean... I thought you hated me... why would you bother..." Harry trailed off, feeling slightly helpless as his reality somersaulted around him; his friends had, though perhaps unintentionally, abandoned him, and his enemy was healing him. Something had gone terribly wrong with the world.

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A/N: I actually don't know if begonias grow on bushes, but it sounded good at the time...

Sorry it took so long to update... like I mentioned before, my literary inspiration is seldom and rare... N E who... hoped you liked it. Please review, it would make my toes happy.

;-;Adrian Winter;-;


	3. New Beginnings

A/N: Woo-hoo! Chapter 3! I'm excited.

Let me start by thanking all those wonderful people who reviewed... I really appreciate it– it gave me warm fuzzy feelings inside. :) And (perhaps most important for you as a reader), they inspire me when I'm feeling down, and make me feel like writing again. Truly, Thank You All.

Also (as I have forgotten to mention until now), any and all content from the sixth canon is being ignored. Kind of an important thing to forget, I know. Sorry.

One reviewer gave me a friendly warning about keeping track of the big picture, and I highly value that bit of advice... I've read so many fics where the characters' thoughts, feelings, and even actions are ignored, and the only thing there is, _is_ the big picture, that I might be overcompensating for what I don't want my story to be like. That being said, I'll try not to get so caught up with the characters' thoughts to the point that it actually takes _away_ from the story.

One last thing: Although I wasn't planning on mentioning any specific reviewer, I can't help but give a shout out to one **Roslyn Drycof**. I think you are a fabulous writer (I love your story "We All Die Anyway") and so I was honored when I saw that you had reviewed this humble fic of mine. Thank you so very much.

That's enough of me now. Enjoy!

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**Somebody Save Me**

CHAPTER 3

_Four weeks and 2 days into the summer holidays, Malfoy Manner_

Keeping his face blank and willing himself to remain patient, Draco continued to observe Harry as he pondered over a proper response to the question that still hung in the air. Of _course_ the ebony-haired boy would be wary and disbelieving– five years of rivalry, suspicion and spiteful words couldn't be erased overnight, and Draco didn't know how he could have thought otherwise... but he still couldn't help feeling slightly squashed by the fact that Harry didn't trust him, no matter how illogical that feeling was.

Harry was looking at him in a confusedly uncertain, expecting way that made him look like he was not sure if he wanted the answer. The look in his eyes seemed... startled and confused, but also tired and resigned, Draco thought... as if the rug that was his life had been repeatedly pulled out from under his feet, and each time he was left staring at a strange, new ceiling, left with no other option than to stand up, only to be blind-sided as, once again, the rug was swept away.

"_But why? I mean... I though you hated me... why would you bother...?" _

But what was he, Draco, supposed to say to that? What could he possibly say that would show his true intentions, that would convince Harry that he wasn't going to curse him when his back was turned? Hell, Draco himself didn't even know what his intentions were; he hadn't really planned past keeping Harry alive.

'_Well, the truth is, Harry– do you mind if I call you Harry?– I've fancied you for quite a while now, I've always been disgusted at the idea of joining the Dark Lord, and I'm actually quite glad that you've gotten my Father put in jail. Oh, and all those hateful, nasty, horrible things that I've done and said to you and your friends for the past five years? That was all just an act. No hard feelings, right?'_ Harry would then forgive him and they would promptly fly off together into the sunset, and Voldemort would just sort of... not be around anymore.

Oh yeah. He could _sooo_ see that happening.

Draco allowed himself a small sigh as he let his eyes wander aimlessly around the room– looking everywhere and anywhere except for at Harry, as if the furniture would tell him the answer he needed.

His room was simply but elegantly furnished, all the pieces froming a matching set, made from the darkest wood that was black at first glance. Any and all fabric was of some darker shade of Slytherin green, as were the walls and carpet, with trimmings in silver. His bed was on the wall to the left of the doors (one led in from the hall, the other led to his bathroom), and his bedroom was on a corner of the manor, allowing floor-length, curtained windows along the same wall as the bed, as well as the wall opposite the doors. Finding that neither of the bedside tables (there was one on either side of the bed) had anything to say, his gaze traveled around to the wardrobe (enchanted to reveal a roomy walk-in closet when opened) and desk on the windowed wall opposite the doors. They didn't have the answer either.

His last resorts were the book shelves along the un-windowed wall, which were stacked from floor to ceiling with books. Though for all the knowledge they held, they weren't helping Draco at all with their silence.

Finally returning his thoughts to the real world (where they ought to be), Draco realized that he'd been silent for an apparently long time, seeing as how Harry's gaze had dropped down to the comforter spread out over him, which he was worrying with his hands; the dark-haired boy fidgeted restlessly from what (for him) must have been a long and awkward silence.

"It's... complicated..." Draco stated hesitantly, temporarily relieving his guest of the silence, but not himself of the question. Harry's head jerked up in surprise at the reply, however, as he had apparently forgotten that he had asked a question in the first place.

"Er..."

"Look," Draco interrupted, "there's nothing that I could say that would adequately explain my previous actions or words, or allow you the piece of mind that I know you're lacking right now, but I will tell you this: Malfoy's are not in the habit of killing off people that they find lying unconscious on the front lawn... at least not without giving them a chance to explain themselves first." The young Slytherin raised one questioning eyebrow.

"So, if you would be so kind as to explain your presence in the gardens this morning?" Harry adopted a look of mild sheepishness at Draco's query.

"Er... yeah... sorry about that..." Harry started awkwardly. He seemed to suddenly realize something as he looked up and said (with slightly narrowed eyes), "Where's my broom and cloak?"

'_Never one for subtlety, were you, Potter?_' Draco thought as he failed to keep his eyes from momentarily glancing towards the heavens. "If you'd care to be observant for just a moment, Potter, you'd see that your possessions are leaning safely against the wall behind you. And don't change the subject."

After turning to see that his broom was indeed still in one piece with his invisibility cloak folded neatly on the floor next to it, Harry turned back to facing Draco and fidgeted restlessly as he resumed an uncomfortable expression. "Right, well..."

Growing impatient, Draco cut him off by saying, "Let's start with how you got those injuries–" He ignored the I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this-especially-not-with-you look that Harry shot him, "–obviously, some of the broken bones where from the fall (I'm assuming you fell off your broom; feel free to correct me if I'm wrong), but some of those bruises where a lot older and the cut on the back of your head–"

"Why do you care anyway!" Harry interrupted him in a panicked and angry voice. The young Grffyndor was looking slightly shaken, and Draco could see unbidden emotions shining in those bright emerald eyes... fear, anger... shame, and... guilt?

Startled by Harry's sudden outburst, Draco let a bit of annoyance color his own features and voice as he shot back, "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I simply feel that you owe me an explanation as to why you were lying unconscious, bleeding to death, on _my_ front lawn!"

"I don't owe you _anything_, Malfoy!" Harry yelled angrily as he leapt out of the bed, looking as if his intention was to grab his stuff and make a mad dash for the door... which, indeed, it was.

Draco leapt up with equal fervor from the armchair he'd previously inhabited and stood imposingly in Harry's path (though it wasn't all that impressive considering that they were the same height). His fists were clenched at his sides; he wasn't completely sure why he was so angry, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Harry's stubbornness. Why did the Gryffindor have to be so difficult? Was it really too much to ask for a simple reason why and how? Why did almost everything Harry say and do (and please pardon the cliche) make his blood boil?

'_You're the son of a Death Eater, remember?_' Draco admonished himself. But what could Harry tell him that would be considered valuable information to the Dark Lord?

Why did he feel like he would drown in the fire of those verdant emerald eyes? Why did he _want _to?

"You _owe _me and expla_na_tion." Draco persisted with equal adamancy, leveling the boy in front of him with a determined glare as he shoved the latter of the questions to the back of his mind. "And you're not leaving until you do."

:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:–:

Harry knew that his sudden temper change was mostly uncalled for. He could see that Draco was really only angry because he, _Harry_, was angry, and that the Malfoy heir really did have a right to know why he had been, in a sense, trespassing on private property. He also knew himself well enough to know that the anger was just an emotional mask; he really felt indignation at having to tell things to a Slytherin that he hadn't even told his best friends; embarrassment of the abuse he couldn't protect himself from and the knowledge that he had persistent feelings that he had deserved it; he felt shame at the emotions and thoughts that had overwhelmed him when he'd been isolated at the Dursley's; overall, he was horrified of someone, _anyone_, finding out his weaknesses, and just how close he had been to giving up the night he had escaped.

"Who in hell gave _you_ the right to say what I can and cannot do!" Harry exclaimed furiously.

All of this, however, did not prevent him from lashing out with anger, resulting in an irritated host/captor.

Draco simply crossed his arms, standing his ground and remaining silent, despite the glint in his silver eyes that betrayed an urge to hex Harry until he started being more agreeable. Harry's body had taken a different meaning from those smoldering eyes, however, as he felt his stomach do a sudden somersault as a strange jolt rang through his body.

Said bespeckled boy growled at the being blocking his path while his inner demons alternately beat him over the head for being so emotional and blockheaded, and screamed at him to run away and never look back. They (his inner demons, that is) then stopped, did a double take, and reminded him that he had his wand in his pocket (Harry wondered if he really needed it though), while Draco did not. Then _Harry_ did a mental double take and wondered how long he'd been calling Malfoy, Draco, even if just in his mind.

;-;(Author proceeds to go and check for herself and discovers that it has been that way since last chapter. Heh, heh.);-;

His confused musings were cut of, however, when he was suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness. His head swam as his vision was clouded with splotches of darkness, and he opted to collapse sideways onto the bed rather than fall down all together. Biting his lip to suppress a pained groan, Harry squeezed his eyes against the sudden hunger and weakness he felt. Once the light headed-ness had subsided, he opened his eyes cautiously and blinked as he felt a strange feeling of deja vu; It was slightly different this time, though, seeing as how there were three potions being held out to him instead of one, each a different color.

"The nourishment, hydration, and blood restorative potions I mentioned earlier."

Draco's angry demeanor had faded, and was replaced with a (slightly weary) detached coolness once again.

"Thanks..." Harry said, previous anger forgotten in the wake of pain.

Draco nodded as Harry downed them all (Harry was again surprisedby the flavors-- apple, watermelon, and strawberry this time), and then said, "You don't have to tell me anything. It doesn't matter..." He mumbled the last bit, paused, and then continued, "If you're really in such a hurry to leave, tell me where you're going and I'll arrange for transportation–"

At this Harry started to protest, but was interupted, "Stuff it, Potter. You'd just fall off your broom again if you tried flying in the state you're in."

Harry looked away and began worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He couldn't deny that he had been in a hurry to leave, but that didn't mean that he had any idea where to go. Harry heaved a mental sigh. '_Did I have to be such a complete prat?_' he wondered to himself. What had he had to lose from just telling Draco a few things? Would it really have mattered? No, it wouldn't have... especially after the things he had felt in the cupboard... he had been so ready to give up, why should telling a few of his secrets matter so much now?

Harry suddenly realized that though he could _recall_ those emotions, he wasn't actually _feeling_ them. Being around Draco had somehow given him back his spark, making it so that Harry didn't feel like just _living_ was a burden anymore... this was something that he hadn't had since... '_Since before Sirius died_' hethough with a pangof grief.And, faced now with the prospect of leaving, Harry found that he didn't really want to go. To leave now would be to forsake the life that he had justgotten back– everything may have been rather surreal (he was still shocked my Malfoy Jr.'s civility), but Harry felt that if he had to go back out into the real world now, he'd lose that spark again, crack to a point that could not be mended... he could already feel the despair creeping at the edges of his mind.

Finally reaching a sort of decision, Harry assumed a mildly sheepish expression as he finally said, "I haven't got anywhere to go."

Draco crossed his arms, sat back into the armchair, and remained quiet, giving Harry a sort of steely look. It was obvious he wanted _some_ kind of an explanation.

"I was running away from my muggle relatives," Harry explained, "I didn't really plan it out or anything... not exactly in the right state of mind, I guess."

"Why were you running away?"

Harry hesitated... it was harder to say than he'd thought it would be.

"They... had taken a liking to beating me." Harry saw Draco's eyes widen, "After one particularly bad session, they decided to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs–" Draco's expression became slightly horror struck, "–for a few days. No food or water, naturally. I... got desperate and... eventually packed up and took off." He summarized, speaking cautiously, eyes darting to catch a glance at Draco's reaction.

Said blonde floundered for a few moments before he spoke, his expression a forced calm once more, "I take it your relatives don't like you very much?"

Harry suppressed a snort at the understatement and nodded. "They were what you would call the worst kind of muggles– they hated magic, and anything else they deemed ab_nor_mal. I was called a freak on many occasions."

"Why did you even live with them then?" Draco sounded appalled, though he didn't allow it to show on his face. "Why didn't you try to get away sooner?"

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't fun living with the Dursleys, but it wasn't the worst thing, either... they didn't start getting really bad until a few weeks ago. Still can't figure out why." He assumed a humorless smile as he said, "Maybe it was their way of making my last summer with them as... _memorable_, as possible..." It wasn't the whole truth, but it would do for now, Harry thought mildly.

Draco scowled slightly, before his face faded into a look of mild curiosity as he asked, "How did you get out of the cupboard? I'm assuming the muggles didn't lock you in there with your wand."

Harry laughed dryly, "No, they weren't that stupid, unfortunately," He assumed a thoughtful expression and continued, "I'm actually still trying to figure out how exactly I got out... I was delirious, I think, and was wishing that I had my wand... I mumbled _alohomora_ aloud, and it worked, much to my surprise. I mean, I've never heard of wandless magic, but at the time I... just figured..."

Harry trailed off at a loss for words at the strange look that Draco was giving him. "Wandless... magic..." Draco muttered with shock. He continued to stare, seemingly shell shocked, for a few silent moments before he shook himself out of his daze. "...is really rare. Nearly impossible, really. Only the most powerful witches and wizards have ever been known to be able to do it, and even then just simple spells are exhausting." He finished, still staring with a thoughtful gleam in his eyes, though his face was schooled blank (once again... he was starting to wonder why he even bothered).

"Oh," Harry said simply, not sure how he should respond to that. A tiny sarcastic voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he shouldn't have been surprised; he was _the_ famous Harry Potter, after all. The-Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, et cetera. This was just one more thing to add to the list. Harry mentally growled at the voice and told it to shut up.

An awkward silence ensued, stretching out to fill even the darkest corners of the room. Draco and Harry stared blankly at each other,neither sure what to say, and neither willing to be the first to look away.

Finally, Draco tore his eyes away and opted to look out the window instead, startling Harry with the statement, "Your welcome here for as long as you need."

It was Harry's turn to be surprised. Although this new version of Draco wouldn't have a reason to kick Harry out, he didn't have a reason to let him stay, either. "It... might be a while..." Harry eventually said, "Would it be a problem if I stayed 'til school started again?"

The blonde shook his head, "No." He fell back into to silence after that, his gaze locked on some arbitrary bit of scenery, giving Harry a chance to admire his own view.

Draco's skin was still pale, but not in the sickly way that it often had been before. His almost white-blonde hair was about the same length that it always was, but it was no longer slicked back like usual. Instead, it fell attractively around his face, suiting his features. Oh so familiar silver eyes sparkled in the sunlight that filtered through the window, and Harry's breath caught as that same sunlight made Draco's hair shine brilliantly.

A bit of color rose to Harry's cheeks as he realized he'd been staring, and he swiftly averted his gaze. He didn't quite know what to make of these strange things he'd been feeling, nor did he want to deal with them. So, he did what most people do when they don't want to deal with things– he ignored them.

He was saved from having to think about it anymore when Draco looked like he'd just thought of something, and stood up facing Harry."Can we... start over?" Heasked uncertainlywith a glimmer of something-- hope, Harry thought--in his eyes. Without waiting for an answer, he held out his hand towards Harry and stated cordially, "Draco Malfoy."

Harry stared dumbly for asecond before standing up and facing Draco. For a moment, he wondered if it would really be such a wise idea to associate with a Slytherin, a _Malfoy_. He shoved those insecurities aside;hadn't healready decided '_to hell with things_'? Hadn't he already figured that there wasn't much to lose? Why not trust Draco, just to try something different...

He knew he would break, permanently, if this world shattered; if it really was all just a plot engineered to fool him... but he also knew that if it was indeed genuine, it could be the start of something very interesting indeed.

He hadn't missed the familiarity of the situation, either– with a twist of course. It easily reminded him of their second meeting, back on the train before their first year at Hogwarts... Harry wondered idly just how different things might have been between them if he hadn't rejected Draco's offering of friendship, though he knew he would do it again. Ron had been one of his first friends _ever_, who then later became one of his _best_ friends ever. He wouldn't have abandoned him for anything.

That particular train of thought reminded Harry of where he was.

_Malfoy Manor._

As well as where he wasn't.

_The Burrow. Hogwarts_.

Who he wasn't with.

_Ron. Hermione._

Who hadn't been there for him when he needed it most.

_Dumbledore. _

And who _was_.

_Malfoy_.

Who, suddenly, as if out of a dream, had been there by his side when he woke up to pull him out of the darkness.

_Draco_.

With those thoughts in mind, he reached out, tentatively at first, and took the offered hand. Feeling suddenly warm with an unexplainable happiness, he couldn't keep a smile from twisting up the corners of his mouth as he replied, "Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

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A/N: Okay, so, I went back and reread through chapters one and two and found a few typos and minor mistakes; they aren't that important, but I do plan to go back one day (most likely when the story's finished) and fix them, just so you know.

Looking back on _this_ chapter, I'm not so sure I did a good job keeping track of the big picture... heh, heh... of course, that could just be because I don't really have a big picture in mind. (Author smiles cheekily). Bad me.

Also, I'd just like to point out that one of my goals for this fic is for the newest chapter to always be longer than the one before it. So... now you have a general idea on the chapter lengths. Be happy.

Lastly, I appreciate all of you who took the time to read this fic, and I hope it entertained you to a satisfactory degree. Please review, I love hearing what you guys think of the story (constructive criticism is always welcome).

'Til chapter 4!

;-;Adrian Winter;-;


	4. Abandoned

A/N: I wanted to make a comment about the magic theory for this story. I know that in a lot of fics wandless magic isn't that big of a deal, but it is for this particular one... because I want it to be that way. So there.

Thanks once again to all my wonderful reviewers, even the ones who didn't think my story was all that great... seeing less than positive reviews just makes me want to improve my writing so it'll be better the next time around. This story wouldn't be here without all the support (and criticism). Thanks!

Also, I made a couple of spelling and date errors last chapter (which were pointed out ever so kindly by **Vidalark** and **Sparkleh**) that I've already gone back and fixed.

Also, I am so very sorry for taking so long to update. Hopefully, this chapter can make it up to you.

That being said, let the chapter begin!

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**Somebody Save Me**

CHAPTER 4

_Four weeks and 2 days into the summer holidays, Malfoy Manor_

Draco stared with slightly widened eyes at the genuine smile on Harry's face as the raven-haired young man took his offered hand. Though the smile was small, being barely the upturning of the corners of his mouth, it was genuine, and it continued to grow. As it did, Draco saw a bit of sparkle return to the emerald eyes that he hadn't realized had been missing before.

"Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

Draco's heart skipped a beat at the reply as he realized that Harry's smile had been directed at _him _(ignoring, of course, the voice in the back of his head that questioned who _else_ it could possibly have been directed at, considering that they were the only ones in the room). He hesitantly smiled back, trying not to be overwhelmed by the strange warm fuzzy feeling that taking Harry's hand had invoked.

This moment, in truth, felt rather surreal. Sure, he had offered a sort of truce to Harry, but the majority of him had expected rejection again, just like 6 years ago. The fact that he had actually been excepted by Harry was... more than he could have ever hoped for.

Finally pulling his thoughts back to present happenings, Draco released Harry's hand (albeit a tad reluctantly), and stood awkwardly for a few moments, not really sure what to do next. The whole 'starting over' thing had been completely unplanned (he mentally admonished himself for leaving himself vulnerable via not being prepared), and left him at a loss of what to do next.

After deciding that he might as well take care of a few practical matters, Draco addressed Harry, "Well, as much as I've loved having you in my bed, Potter," the blonde Slytherin then smirked, though it was a mere shadow of the disdainful ones of the past, before continuing, "I think it will be much more convenient for you to have your own room for the duration of your stay here."

Ignoring (but certainly noticing) the faint blush that had made it's way onto Harry's cheeks, Draco made his way to the door that led to the hall, pausing as he waited for his guest to follow. Once Harry had gathered his things and complied to the unspoken request, Draco proceeded out into the hall, and led them into the guest room that neighbored his own slightly larger quarters.

As Harry mumbled a quick thanks and wandered about aimlessly to get a feel for things, Draco spoke again in a business like tone. "You'll still need to take more of the potions I gave you earlier, a dose tonight, and two doses a day for about... 3 days, I think. After that, you should be fine, if not a bit weak. Though, you could probably bypass the nourishment potion tonight if you think you're up to some real food."

Seeing the slightly queasy look that flitted across Harry's features at the mention at food, Draco quickly amended, "Right. Potion it is then."

He paused to watch as Harry idly placed his belongings (the broom, the cloak, and a shrunken trunk from his pocket) at the end of the bed and then sit down next to them before he continued, "If you need anything, you can call a house elf or come to me. The bathroom is there–" he pointed to the appropriate door, "–and you're welcome to wander through the mansion, though I doubt you'd find anything of terrible interest. Don't panic if you run into my mother. She's... well, without my father around, she won't be any trouble." His eyes dimmed to grey as his mind wandered slightly with thoughts of his mother, but he quickly pushed them aside.

Harry was giving him a curious look, as if he knew there were issues attached to the topic, but said nothing.

Finding that there really wasn't any reason for him to linger, he turned to head back to his own room, leaving Harry to his own thoughts.

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A/N: Kay, this was a really short chapter because it's all I had written before I decided I just didn't want to continue. I've lost all drive to continue this story, so I'm gonna cut my losses.

If anyone is interested in taking what little idea there is to this and finishing it or twisting it for their own purposes, feel free. Heh. Maybe we could call it the 'Unconscious on the Front Lawn Challenge'.

So, just to be completely clear, this fic is officially abandoned and is open territory for anyone who is interested.

Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed– My only regret is that I won't be finishing this story for you, but that's why I've made it public domain. Thanks again, and farewell for now.

:Adrian Winter:


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